


Lip Service

by spectaculacularsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Light Nipple Play, Make Up, Marking, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Placing Bets, Sam Talks Dirty, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering, lip gloss, lip gloss kink, lots of oral sex, sam attempts to put make-up on you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After you have Sam put your lip gloss on you, he thinks that doing your make-up can't be that hard. Of course, you think he's nuts and tell him there's no way that he can successfully do your make-up. A bet is placed: the loser pays the winner $50 and gives them oral sex twice a day for a week. </p><p>(I watched <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHZQR3UkTLk">THIS</a> and had to write this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lip Service

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to lady_ataralasse for proofing for me.  
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

“Guys!” Dean yells from down the hall. “Get a move on! Two for one appetizers end in an hour!”

“Five minutes!” you yell back, even though you haven’t started your make-up yet. It’ll probably end up being fifteen minutes, but Dean can wait.

Sam pulls on his boots and shrugs on his jacket, then sits down on the corner of his bed, patiently waiting for you. He watches you argue with your eyeliner, swear a couple of times, wipe it off, then start over. “You need some help?” he asks playfully.

You sigh and opt for the smudgy-I-can’t-draw-a-straight-line-on-my-eyes-to-save-my-life look. Once your mascara is applied, you grab a few lip glosses, hold them up to Sam, and ask, “Which one? Um….” You look at the bottom of the tubes. “ _Open Me?_?” You show him the pinkish-red tube. “ _Orgasm_?” You show him a shimmery golden-pink gloss. “Or… _Fire Down Below_?” A variation of the first red one, but less pink – it’s _totally_ different.

Curious, Sam walks over to you and takes all the lip glosses from you. “Why do these all sound like something you’d get from a sex toy store?”

“I don’t name them, Sam. I just use them.”

“I kind of like your lips the way they are,” Sam bends down to give you a kiss, pulling your body tight to his. “But I also like when they’re shiny, too.”

You hum softly when Sam kisses you again, then ask, “But _which_ _color_ of shiny?”

“Uh….” Sam tries to decide. “Is it just me, or do these two look the same?” He holds up _Open Me?_ and _Fire Down Below_.

You scoff and smirk up at Sam. “This one is red-pink, and that one is just red.”

“Oookay,” he mumbles under his breath like what you said just cleared everything up. “This one.” He puts one of the tubes in your hand and watches you squeeze a little out on the tip of your finger, then start to dab it along your lips. “Aren’t you supposed to use the tube thingie?”

Looking at Sam’s reflection in the mirror, you smile. “I could I guess, but I think just using my finger is easier. This way, I don’t end up with big globs of lip gloss on my lips.” After you notice that Sam’s brows are furrowed from watching you so intently, you turn around. “You wanna do it for me?”

Sam takes the tube of lip gloss from you when you hand it to him, but looks a little perplexed. “I’m not sure that I’m a qualified lip gloss applier.”

“You’ve never put on chapstick before?”

“Well, yeah, but it didn’t have sparkles or matter if I got it on my face.”

“This doesn’t matter, either. I’ll just wipe it off, and you can start over.” You squeeze a little of the gloss on the tip of Sam’s finger. “Just try.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam wraps one of his hands around the back of your neck, tips your head back, and starts to dab the gloss where you didn’t. His brows furrow again, and you can really tell that he’s really concentrating. It’s adorable. “Stop smiling. You’re making me-” He sighs. “You’re making me mess up!”

“It’s fine,” you assure him while trying not to move your lips. “Just use a different finger and wipe away the parts that you messed up on.”

Sam clarifies, “The parts that _you_ made me mess up on.”

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes.

“Stay _still_. Almost done.” Sam carefully dabs his finger along your lips for another minute, moving his mouth in ways that you assume he wants you to move your lips. The faces he makes are hilarious, and you try not to laugh. “There. Done.”

After Sam turns you around, you look in the mirror and inspect his work. There’s a couple places where he went outside your lip line a little bit, but it’s an easy fix. Just as you reach up to wipe the excess gloss away, Sam grabs your hand and turns you back around. “I got it.”

Just as Sam starts to clean up the tiny smudge and fix a section of your lips that he doesn’t think is as shiny as the rest, Dean walks in. He opens his mouth to say something that you’re sure is full of snark, but he snaps his mouth shut in shock, smirking after he takes in the whole picture. “When you two are done playing Pretty Pretty Princess, I’d like to go get some damn chow before I have to pay full-price.”

Sam bitchfaces at Dean. You try to make an annoyed face at Dean, but Sam turns your head back to him. Dean just laughs and rolls his eyes as he walks out of Sam’s bedroom.

Once everything is shiny and un-smudged to his satisfaction, Sam turns you back around toward the mirror. “Better?”

“Actually….” You press your lips together, smoothing out the gloss. “You did really well.” You smile up at his reflection, impressed with his work. “I should teach you how to do my eyeliner.”

Sam laughs. “I think I’ll pass.”

On the way out of his bedroom, he kisses you again, careful not to ruin his work.

-

Later that night, you, Sam, and Dean are back at the bunker – Dean made it to the bar just in time to order his half-priced appetizers, but still gave Sam shit about putting your lip gloss on you.

Now, in Sam’s bedroom, he’s sitting in his bed, watching you use some sort of liquid and a cotton ball to take off your make-up. He’s watched you do it a thousand times, but has to smirk at your routine: you take off your make-up, wash your face, and then slather some sort of lotion on it, even though you just made your face clean.

When you climb into bed next to him, Sam snaps off his lamp and pulls you close, nuzzling your cheek. He almost makes a comment about how it must be exhausting to be a girl, but feels how soft your skin is and how clean you smell. He simply kisses your unglossed lips, your smooth cheek, your jaw and neck, then decides to kiss the _other_ parts of your body that he knows are just as soft.

-

Later in the week, the three of you are back from a hunt, and Sam’s sitting in his bed again, half-thumbing through a book and half-watching you unpack your bags. He sees you take your make-up and other products out of your travel bag, then put them in the little box that you keep on the floor by the little sink in his bedroom.

Sam gets an idea. “Would you bring that box over here?”

Confused, you ask, “My make-up box?”

“Yeah; bring it over here.”

Still with the confused-look on your face, you bring the box over and sit down next to Sam. When he starts to look through the compacts and pots of eyeshadow, you have to ask, “Why do you want to see my make-up?”

“Just curious is all,” he only offers, smelling things as he opens and closes them. “Did you mean it before when you said you’d let me do the eyeliner thing?”

Seeing _Sam Winchester_ look at your smoky-eye make-up palette and then smell it, makes you laugh. “Since when are you all Mary Kay?”

Giving you a look, he clarifies, “I’m _not_ ; just watched you grumble at your eyeliner before. It can’t be _that_ hard.”

You laugh and shake your head at him.

“What? You don’t think I could do it?”

“Sam, _I_ can’t even do it half the time.”

Getting a little cocky, Sam asks, “Should we make this interesting?”

You grin at him. “What are your terms?”

“Twenty bucks says I can do the eyeliner thing.”

You hang your head and laugh at Sam. “Twenty-five says you can’t.”

Raising one of his eyebrows up at you, Sam counters your wager, “Thirty says I can do….” Not even sure what it’s called, he just makes a gesture to your face. “That I can do the whole thing.”

“You’re going to do _all_ of my make-up? Mascara, blush, contour my nose, and cover up my dark circles AND _do it well enough_ so that I’ll be able to walk out of your room and not have Dean laugh his head off at me?”

Even though Sam has no idea what you just said, he’s sure that he can figure it out; it can’t be _that hard_. He shrugs as if it’s no big thing. “Sure.”

You pause for a second, then add, “ _And_ if you make me look like a hooker of _any_ variety, you automatically lose.”

Looking at you with a little bit of horror in his eyes, Sam assures you, “I’m _not_ going to make you look like a hooker.”

Thinking that you can _finally_ place a bet with Sam that you’ll win, you up the amount and make things _really_ interesting. “Fifty. And the loser gives the winner oral twice a day for a week.”

After Sam’s eyes get a little wide, his pupils blow. “Fifty dollars, but if _I_ win you wear that _Open Me?_ lip gloss when you blow me. Your shiny, red lips’ll look _so_ _hot_ wrapped around my cock…twice a day for a week.”

You grin at Sam and make the color-distinction, “It’s red-pink.”

Leaning forward to kiss you, Sam grunts against your lips, “Whatever.”

Between Sam’s kisses, you ask, “But what color would look hot on _your_ lips if _I_ win?”

Bringing his lips down your jaw, Sam whispers in your ear, “Not that you’re gonna win, but if for some crazy reason you do, I think _you’ll_ make my lips shiny enough.”

You feel yourself dampen at the thought. “Deal.”

-

Wanting to give Sam a fresh and clean palette to work – _lose_ – with, you wash your face. When you’re finished, you go back to Sam’s bed and sit down. “Okay, Winchester. Do your best.”

Sam’s got all your concealer sticks, powders, blushes, mascaras, eyeshadows and liners, lip glosses, sticks, and stains laid out in front of him. “So, where do I start?”

You take a minute to laugh at him, then sigh with smug-mock-sympathy, “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, _Sammy_.” He throws you a look for calling him ‘Sammy,’ but you just give him a cheeky smile. “That wasn’t part of our deal. You didn’t say _one word_ about me walking you through the process _,_ but what you _did say_ was, ‘ _it can’t be that hard_.’ You’re on your own, Bonne Bell. Now, make me pretty.”

As soon as he replays the terms and conditions of the deal he and you struck, Sam knows that he’s fucked – and not in the way that he was hoping for – but keeping his poker face and his cool, he leans forward and lightly kisses you. “You’re already pretty.”

You kiss him back and grin. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Thinking back to his time spent at Stanford, Sam remembers the Art History course that he took and how he learned how some of the greatest painters in the world prepped their canvases for their masterpieces. Deciding to go with that line of thinking, Sam reads all the labels and writing on every tube and stick that are the same color as your skin. You said something about covering up your under-eye circles, so he picks up what he thinks would be the best bet.

Not wanting to give anything away, you sit still and silent as Sam begins.

When Sam squeezes some product onto the tips of his fingers, he dots it under your eye like how you did with your lip gloss, but then hears you start to laugh. “Are you laughing because I’m doing it wrong or because I’m doing it right?”

“I’m laughing because this is happening,” you answer, looking up at Sam’s ceiling while his finger gets dangerously close to your eye. You know that he’s being careful, but not wanting any accidents to happen, you reach down for a make-up sponge and hand it to him. “Use this.”

Sam takes it from you and goes back to dabbing it under your eye. “Thought you weren’t going to help me?”

“Don’t want you to poke me in the eye.”

“I wouldn’t have poked you in the eye,” Sam insists.

“Hey, I’ve done it to myself before; it happens.”

“Okay, shush.” He puts a finger up to your lips. “I’m concentrating.”

Over the course of the next two hours, you open and close your eyes and mouth when Sam tells you to, trying really hard not to laugh when he puts you in a position similar to a headlock as he attempts to draw on your eyeliner.

You can tell he’s playing it safe and using light or neutral colors. However, Sam won’t let you look in a mirror, so you have no idea if you look like an extra from _Cats_ or not. His face gives nothing away, except for when he moves his lips, eyebrows, and chin in the way that he wants you to move yours. It’s so hard not to laugh, but you manage.

Sam’s face might not be giving anything away, but the second he started smoothing the first product under your eyes, he knew that he was in _waaaaaaay_ over his head. It’s got some shimmery sort of _something_ in it, and no matter what he puts on top of it, you’re still sparkling like a pixie. Sam decides to go with it and collects all the tubes, compacts, and pots of make-up you have that glitter, sparkle, or shine. Most girls like to match stuff, right?

The rules that you and he set never specified either way if he could have a re-do. He almost asks if you can wash your face again, so he can start over, but then decides, _Fake it until you make it_ …or whatever.

But then, something happens. Sam starts using these little brushes and these light colors, and while things aren’t turning out the way they look when _you_ do your make-up, he thinks maybe… _possibly_ it might not be that bad.

For the last touch, Sam grabs a light-colored, sparkly lip gloss – to go with the rest of your light colored and sparkly make-up, _of course_ – and dabs it on your lips like how you showed him before. As he coats your lips with the golden-pink sparkly gloss, he looks at the bottom of the tube and realizes that it’s aptly named, _Orgasm_. He chuckles.

However, you don’t have to see the bottom of the tube to know which lip gloss Sam’s chosen. “You like that one, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees and grins. “It’s fitting, but not the color I want you to wear _later_.”

Rolling your eyes, you dig through your box of make-up and pull out a tube of clear lip gloss, showing it to Sam. “Somehow, I think you’ll have a little something on your lips that resembles _this_.”

Sam looks at the lip gloss and then the name: _Triple X_. “We’ll see.” After wiping away a stray fleck of glitter from your lip, he tells you, “Do that thing with your lips that you do after you put on the lip gloss.”

You laugh. “What _thing_?”

“That…. I don’t know what it’s called. You do this thing where you smack your lips and rub them together.”

Once Sam explains, you know what he’s talking about, but wanting to see him make the motion, you look at him with fake confusion, like you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Sure enough, Sam does the thing; he smacks his lips, and while he presses them together, he mumbles, “This thing.”

“Oh, okay,” you answer innocently, trying so hard not to laugh at him, and after you do what he says you ask, “Did I do it right?”

“Yes.” Sam rolls his eyes when he figures out you’ve been giving him shit. Holding your mirror behind his back, he asks, “You ready?”

“I _totally_ am,” you say, ready to laugh your ass off and collect your twice daily orgasms for the next week – and your fifty dollars.

Sam pulls the mirror out from behind his back, and you finally get to see his work – and the somewhat confused, yet proud look on his face.

“O-oh,” you stutter in shock, looking at your reflection. Sam used shimmery AND sparkly eyeshadow, a slightly glittery bronzer on your cheeks, and to follow suit, the _Orgasm_ lip gloss is shimmery too. “Well, Sam, it sure is sparkly.”

“A little,” Sam admits. “But you don’t look like a hooker, and I made sure that you don’t have those gross make-up lines, and not that I saw them or anything, but you don’t have dark circles under your eyes.”

Sam’s right; you don’t have any dark circles, but he used your highlighting cream for under eye concealer. _Everything_ sparkles, and by everything, you mean _everything._ Before you can tell him, Sam cuts you off, “We’ll let Dean be the judge; if he doesn’t laugh, then I win.”

“Oh, babe,” you sigh and chance another look in the mirror, hoping that time has erased some of the glitter. Yes, there’s actual glitter, and you literally have no idea where it came from. “I don’t- Sam… _Sweetie,_ you did really good for your first try. The eyeliner is…on my eyelids, I don’t have lip gloss on my teeth, I don’t look like a hooker- I’ll give you all that, but- ” You try so hard not to laugh, because it’s clear that Sam’s so proud of himself. “I just have to ask, you’d be okay taking me out to dinner with my make-up done like this?”

Sam stops; you’ve got a point. “Well, maybe not dinner….” You _never_ wear sparkles to dinner, and as Sam looks at you, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you wear sparkles…ever. _Crap._

Giving him one more chance, you tell Sam, “If you can tell me a place where you’d take me looking like this, you win.”

Really looking at you, Sam has to admit that you look a little like a disco ball, and he knows that if he mentions a time travel trip to Studio 54, you’ll probably smack him on his head. “Okay, okay. Let’s let Dean judge.”

“Sam, you’re great, and this was fun, but I’m not leaving this room looking like this.”

Grasping at straws, Sam reaches for his phone and calls Dean. “Hey. Can you come down to my room when you get a sec?” … “Yeah. Thanks.” Sam smirks at you. “There. Now, you don’t have to leave.”

You roll your eyes and see glitter.

Two minutes later – all spent trying to get the glitter out of your eye and Sam telling you that you’re going to ruin what he’s done – Dean comes into Sam’s bedroom and looks at you. “Holy shit, _______! Did you get in the middle of a fight between Boy George and Ke$ha?”

Not only because of Dean’s reaction do you finally let loose the laughter that you’ve been trying to hide, but the fact that Dean knows who Ke$ha is makes everything _so much_ funnier.

Sam pouts a little. “It’s not that bad.”

It takes Dean a second to remember seeing Sam put your lip gloss on you, and he joins in your laughter. “Sammy?” He laughs some more. “Did you- Did you do… _that_ to her?”

“Yeah; okay, _maybe_ it’s a little much,” Sam admits with a half-smile, but it grows when he watches you laugh and wipe the tears away from your eyes.

After Dean collects himself, he clears his throat and looks at you. “Sweetheart, why did you let Sam- Did you lose a bet?”

“Actually….” You look over at Sam and grin. “I think I just won. Dean, are you saying this is something that I can’t wear out of this room?”

“Um, yeah; that’s _exactly_ what I’m saying. How can you even see?” Dean looks closer at you. “Is that _actual_ glitter?”

-

After Dean leaves Sam’s bedroom, Sam grabs a handful of cotton balls and that little bottle of make-up remover that he’s watched you use before. It takes all sixteen cotton balls for him to get your face clean again.

Once the glitter-speckled cotton is thrown away and you’ve washed your face, you climb up on the bed next to Sam. “I’m sorry for laughing at you.”

He wraps his arms around you and kisses your clean and non-glitter-covered cheek; he likes it better this way. “It _was_ pretty funny.”

“See?” You smirk up at him. “You’re good at so many other things; just maybe not so good in the make-up department.”

“Speaking of things I’m good at….” Sam kisses you and lays you back on his pillows. “I believe a deal was struck.”

“Oh,” you say very seriously. “Can’t forget about our deal.”

After Sam works your shirt up over your head, he realizes he’s not too sore about losing. The curves of your breasts are so soft under his lips, and he knows that while you won the bet, he also gets to reap the rewards.

He smirks against your skin when he sees a few stray flecks of glitter. When he blows them away with a hot breath from his mouth, your body arches up into his, grinding against him just perfectly.

Still kissing and tonguing at your skin, Sam reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, then sucks a nipple into his mouth, groaning around it when you move your hips against him again. He pays your other nipple the same attention, flicking it with his tongue and randomly giving it little sucks and nips with his teeth.

After turning both of your nipples a shiny red-pink with his teeth, mouth, and tongue, he kisses his way down to the waistband of your jeans. Sam’s mouth just barely grazes your button and zipper before he pushes his lips tight against your inseam, breathing in deeply and smelling how much you want him.

Sam’s mouth waters with your sweet smell in his nose, and as he holds your thighs open around his face, he licks along the rough denim, soaking it with his tongue.

“Sam,” you moan his name, wanting – _needing_ more than what he’s giving you.

Only making a low and throaty noise as his answer, Sam’s hands slide up your thighs and hips, wrap around your waistband, and tug your jeans down your body without working open the button or zipper. Instead of pulling your jeans all the way off of you, Sam leaves them bunched up at your ankles, climbs underneath them, and mouths at you through your panties.

They’re already wet before his tongue licks along the cotton, and Sam groans when he can taste you. Wanting more, he pushes the fabric aside, licks along your slit, letting your ample slick pool on his tongue.

Growing impatient, you push your panties down your hips. Sam helps, but only gets them as far as under his chin before his mouth is back on you. Every time you moan or cry out, he answers you with an equally desperate sound that vibrates against your core, and brings you closer to the orgasm that Sam’s licking from you.

Your body tries to curl itself around Sam’s head when he pushes two fingers into your pussy, but his free hand reaches up to your shoulder and pushes you back down to the bed. With his other hand busy between your legs, the hand on your shoulder slides down your chest to thumb at your nipples, but you catch it halfway and bring it up to your lips.

As Sam licks along your clit, he groans when he feels your lips seal around his first and second fingers. Slowing his fingers down to really just rubbing at your g-spot, he briefly takes his mouth away to look up at you mock-blowing his fingers.

You lick up the underside of his fingers like it’s his cock, letting your tongue flutter around Sam’s nailbeds, teasingly showing him what he could have gotten if he’d won the bet. Knowing exactly what you’re doing, Sam sighs a needy sound, but when he watches you slurp three of his fingers into your mouth, he smirks.

Taking his two fingers from your pussy, Sam rubs three against your opening, slicks them up, and carefully slides them inside of you, watching your head push back against the pillow as you moan from the slow stretch. After working them in and out of you a couple of times, he takes his fingers away from your mouth and pussy, switches them out, offering you his three fingers soaked with your slick.

When you see what Sam’s done, you raise a tentative eyebrow at him, but when it’s met with the shiny grin on Sam’s lips, you take a slow lick. As soon as you do, Sam’s head falls forward, but because he wants to continue watching you lick _you_ from his fingertips, he lifts his head again.

Once you start sucking on Sam’s you-slick fingers, and you realize how it’s affecting him, you get a little more playful, giving him eyefuls of long, showy licks and tight sucks. Albeit slowly, Sam keeps grazing your g-spot with the tips of his curled fingers, just watching you, how you squeeze your eyes shut and gasp around his knuckles when he adds a little more pressure, and how you whine when he momentarily takes his fingers away.

Even though it’s just his fingers in your mouth, Sam’s thoroughly enjoying himself, because every lick and suck from you makes his cock fill that much more in his jeans. However, when he feels his fingers bump the back of your throat, he can’t take it anymore. “You need to come, so I can fuck you.”

Slowly sliding Sam’s fingers out from between your lips, you smirk at him. “Then, get to it.”

Sam does. Stealing his hand back, he uses his arms to hook around your hips and pull your pussy tight against his face. He alternates between lapping at your clit and fucking you with his tongue like it’s his job, like having you come on his face is his paycheck with triple overtime.

Of course, it takes just a minute more, and you’re coming, crying out into your hands and arms, so that Dean doesn’t hear you.

Sam makes satisfied noises right along with you, humming against you as he licks you through your aftershocks, enjoying your slick taste against his tongue.

As you catch your breath, Sam yanks your jeans and panties off of your legs, and then turns his hands on his own jeans. Once his cock is free from its confines, he kneels between your bare thighs and slides himself along your clit and opening, enjoying the little sounds that you make and how your thighs twitch from over-stimulation.

He bends down to kiss you as he slides inside of you, pushing into your spit-soaked and dripping pussy, gasping when you clench tight around him. Hard, desperate, and needy, Sam pounds into you, keeping your body tight to his, thankful that it doesn’t take you long to come again, because after watching you come, he knows he won’t last.

-

Throughout the next week, Sam often times wakes you up with his face between your legs, making you come before you’re even fully awake, and more often than not, his nighttime kisses taste like you, too. However, every once in a while, Sam gets creative.

One night, you, Sam, and Dean are sitting at the table in the library, when Dean decides that he’s going to give his back a break from being hunched over the table, stating that he’ll be back in ten. Just as soon as he’s gone from the room, Sam’s pushing his chair out from the table and climbing under it.

“Be quiet for me,” he whispers with a sly smirk on his face.

Before you can ask what the hell he’s doing, his head is between your thighs, and he’s working your pants down, pulling you by your hips to the edge of the chair.

Knowing that he’s only got about nine more minutes, Sam’s quick. With the usual skillful sweeps of his tongue somehow in over-drive, he works his tongue in all the right places, flicks it hard and then soft over your clit, using two fingers to stretch you open as he does it.

Just as that heat blooms in your middle, and just as your cries get harder and harder to keep quiet, Dean’s footsteps can be heard down the hallway. You whine to Sam, he seals his lips around your clit giving it a good suck while pushing his fingers in _exactly_ the right spot, and you end up coming _almost_ completely silent with your head hanging over the back of the chair.

Sam quickly gets your pants back up over your hips, and just as he climbs out from under the table to get back into his chair, Dean turns the corner into the library, seeing Sam wipe your shiny slick from his lips.

Dean’s eyebrows raise when he sees you flushed and a little out of breath. He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything about it.

Another evening, in the shower, Sam gets on his knees, hooks your knees over his shoulders, and presses you back against the wall. The hot water from the shower head sprays down on both you and Sam as he breathlessly works his tongue in and out of you, nosing at your clit.

Wanting it to last, you try to fight the need to come, tangling your fingers tight in Sam’s wet hair. He groans at the tug and pushes you harder into the shower wall, redoubling his efforts. When he feels your thighs start to shake around his head, he knows you’re holding back, so he takes away his tongue and uses his mouth in a different way.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Sam groans, his mouth just inches away from your pussy. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you drip for me like this.”

He licks away a warm line that leaks from your pussy, ignoring your clit and groaning when you whine. Knowing that heat in your core is starting to fade from the absence of his mouth, he softly licks you again. When you let out a frustrated sound, he does it again, then asks, “You like that? Want me to lick you nice and slow? Or maybe this?”

Moving his head to the side, so that the spray from the shower hits your exposed and sensitive clit, Sam watches you clench for more. Being at the bottom of the shower, there’s little to no water pressure, but he can tell the light droplets of water are making you needier and making you regret trying so hard to make it last.

“Sam, please,” you beg, the light sprinkling of water only teasing you.

“You want me to lick your wet pussy? Make you come in my mouth?”

Whining, you answer, “Yes. God, yes.” You try to squirm to push yourself back against Sam’s mouth, but he’s holding you so tightly in his hands. “Please.”

Sam gives you another soft lick. “When I’m done, wanna fuck you right here. Push my leaking cock inside your tight pussy, make you slick me up. I’ll fuck you so hard and fast against this wall until I make you come on my dick. You know I can fill you up so full.” Sam sees another gush dribble out of your pussy, and he forces himself not to lick it away. “God, love how it feels when you’re stretched around me, how gorgeous you look when you come, bouncing on my cock, begging me not to stop.” Both you and Sam are panting by now, but he asks one more question. “You want me to do that?”

“Fuck,” you moan wantonly. “Yes. God, yes. _Please_.”

“Gotta make you come first,” Sam tells you, slowly licking his tongue flat against your clit, groaning when he feels that slick gush on the tip of his tongue. “You made the rules, baby.”

Just when you start to babble and beg Sam to make you come, he latches his mouth onto your clit. Flicking it with his tongue, he swirls and sucks until he feels your thighs clench around his face, more of your slick drenching his tongue as you come, sobbing his name.

Only pushing his tongue against your clit, just barely moving it up and down, he can actually feel your clit twitch as your aftershocks fire off. However, before you even come down, Sam’s got you on your feet, body turned around with your breasts pressed into the wet shower wall, and he easily slides into you from behind.

Just like he said he would, Sam fucks you hard and fast, his fingertips digging almost painfully into your hips as he uses them for leverage to keep his earlier _filthy_ promise.

The next day when there’s tiny fingertip-shaped bruises speckled along your hips and thighs, he kisses them agonizingly slow, not going anywhere near your pussy until you’re almost sobbing for it.

However, on the fourteenth evening, Sam takes his time. He finds you in the kitchen making tea, wearing one of his shirts. He walked into the room so quietly that you don’t even know that he’s there, and he just stands still, watching you until he grows hard in his pants, thinking about how he’s going to make you come. When you bend over to get something out of a cupboard, he gets a tiny glimpse of your panties. The sight makes Sam groan softly, and he palms himself through his jeans.

Sam watches you move around the kitchen for another minute more, and when he can’t stand it any longer, he locks the kitchen door and walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

When you feel Sam press himself into your ass and feel how hard he is, you try to turn around, but he steers you toward the countertop and bends you over it. After pushing his shirt up your back, he slides your panties down your legs, and nudges your feet apart.

When he sees your bare ass, he takes a detour from his original intentions and crouches down on the floor behind you. Using his thumbs to part your lower lips, Sam softly licks every inch of your pussy until you start pushing back against his face.

Sam’s tasted you many, many times, but over the last fourteen days, it’s like he can’t get enough. Licking away all of your wetness that he can, he holds your hips still and teases you for another few minutes. When he takes his mouth away, you whine, but he turns you around so you’re facing him.

Seeing Sam’s lips shiny, you chuckle breathlessly and reach up to wipe away some of the slickness. “Told you it’d be a good look on you.”

He doesn’t answer, just sucks your fingers clean, then pops open the button on his shirt that you’re wearing. When Sam’s done, he sits down on the floor, puts his shirt around the back of his neck, and lays back, bunching the plaid up around his face.

Holding his arms out for you, the only instruction that Sam gives you is, “Kneel.”  

When you do, he helps you right yourself around his face, the soft cotton of his shirt protecting your knees from the bunker’s hard flooring.

Sliding his arms under your legs, so that he can hold onto the sides of your thighs, Sam licks you so soft and so slow that you start whining and begging for more. When he only keeps doing what he’s doing, you try to move your hips to get more pressure, but Sam’s hands keep you still.

Holding you over his face, Sam teases your clit with his tongue. He alternates between using the very tip to lick patterns into your sensitive skin and covering as much of you as he can with his tongue flat and wide, drawing long strokes that make you quiver and plead for more. Sam only makes you beg a couple more times, loving how your voice echoes off the bunker’s kitchen walls, and when he can feel you actually shaking around him, he pushes his tongue inside of you.

The second that Sam’s tongue curls and laps inside your pussy, your head falls backward with a heavy whine. When you try to move your hips to get more, instead of holding you in place, Sam’s hands grab what they can of your hips, and _he_ moves them for you, encouraging you to fuck his tongue.

Every time you move, you feel Sam’s tongue glide along your g-spot, fluttering and twirling inside of you. Each flick makes you moan and brings you that much closer to coming, but because you’ve come so many times over the last week, you need more.

When you try to shift so that Sam’s tongue moves up to your clit, he holds you still. “Nuh-uh.”

“Sam,” you whine. “ _Please_.”

After pulling his face out from between your legs, Sam looks up at you. “Just like this, baby, please. Want you to come on my tongue.”

Before you get a chance to answer, he’s pushing his face back against you, thrusting his tongue inside of you, and licking away all the slickness that appeared during the seconds he was away. You sob when he pulls you even tighter to him. How he’s breathing, you have no idea, but he keeps yanking your hips down over his tongue, urging you to come.

By the time you come – crying out some of the filthiest things that Sam’s sure he’s ever heard – you’re so strung out you can hardly breathe. You’re not even sure how Sam gets you off of his face, but when he begs in your ear, “Please, ______,” all you can think about is Sam fucking you on the kitchen floor.

And he does.

-

A few days later, Sam’s following up some leads that one after another pan out to be nothing. Frustrated, Dean goes out for a drink, but Sam goes back to his bedroom.

He’s not at all prepared for what he finds.

Kneeling in the center of his bed, you’re only wearing that shiny, red lip gloss that Sam’s been dreaming about since he saw it in the tube. Unable to remember much, let alone the kinky name that it had, Sam asks, “What’s that one called?”

With a coy grin on your face, you simply reply, “ _Open Me?_.”

“I like that one,” Sam tells you as he pulls his shirts up over his head, then starts to take off his jeans.

“I remember.” Eagerly, you watch him shed his clothes, feeling yourself drip when the long miles of Sam’s firm body are shown to you.

Just as he steps out of his jeans and kicks them to the side, Sam takes himself in his hand, giving his hardening cock a couple of loose strokes. “And how do I get that pretty, red mouth to open for me?”

“It’s red-pink,” you tease and toss one of Sam’s pillows on the floor in front of him, then get up from the bed. Watching Sam’s eyes follow the pillow and then come back to you, you walk over to the pillow, then kneel on it. “I think you can figure it out.”

For a fraction of a second, Sam stares at you, shocked that you’re actually kneeling naked on his floor, waiting for him. Once he manages to collect himself, he sets to the task of opening your lips. Very lightly, he pushes the tip of his cock against your mouth, intending on smearing that shiny, red-pink gloss along your lips. However, he ends up gasping when you wrap one of your hands around his shaft and give the tip of his cock a kiss.

When you take your mouth away, he feels a slight pull from the tackiness of your lip gloss, and when he looks down at himself, he sees that you’ve left behind a perfect kiss-shaped replica of your lips just to side of his slit.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes, caressing the side of your face with his hand, unable to take his eyes away from the shiny red-pink lip shape on his cock. But when he sees that you move to take him into your mouth – to lick away your mark on him – he stops you. “No. Leave it there.”

Taking your hand away from Sam, you sit back on your legs and look up at him. “Then, tell me what you want me to do.”

Tracing his thumb just under the swell of your bottom lip, careful not to smudge your lip gloss, Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Not only are you completely naked, kneeling for him, with that gorgeous color on your lips, but you’re also asking him to tell you what to do. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t see you lean forward and take him back in your hand, but he takes in a sharp lungful of breath when he feels you grip his cock.

“Just lick- ” Sam pauses to try to catch his breath. “Don’t wreck it; just lick under-”

Carefully taking Sam in your mouth, you don’t seal your lips, only drag your tongue along the underside of his cock. You’re conscientious of the shiny mark that you left behind, and you only lightly lick at Sam’s slit, lathing away the bead of pre-come. “Like that?”

Sam clumsily nods his head, his breathing already picking up. “Yeah; just like that.”

The second time that you that you lap at his cock, you purposely keep your eyes on Sam’s, watching him watch you glide your warm tongue over him. You moan when his fingers touch his face and move your hair to the side, but your eyes never leave his.

It's your wide eyes looking up at him that give Sam the push he needs to tell you what he wants. “Baby, give me your hand.” When you reach up to do what he asked, he takes it and cups his balls, groaning at your touch. Taking his fingers away from yours, he draws and invisible line down the outside of his shaft. “Lick, right here.”

Still keeping his eyes on you, Sam watches you twist on your pillow, so that you’ve got better access. Before he sees you put your mouth back on him, Sam watches you lick a sloppy stripe over the palm of your free hand, wrap it around the opposite side of his cock, and then start slowly stroking him as you lick.

As you work your hands and tongue over Sam, you can hear his breath quicken as he hums low sounds. When you speed up your hand and mouth, he brings his hands up to the back of your head, slowly moving his hips and fucking your hand.

Sam keeps watching you, your hand, and your tongue and notices that when you press your tongue harder into him, and your lips touch his cock, the color of your lip gloss leaves smudges behind. He’s disappointed when he thinks the color’s going to fade away, but is surprised when your lips are still red-pink, just less shiny.

You can feel Sam’s eyes on you, watching everything that you’re doing, and you can tell he’s absolutely loving the streaks of color that your mouth is adding to his cock. “You like that?” you ask, giving your tongue a break.

Nodding his head for his answer, Sam licks his lips.

“I knew you would.” You grin up at him. “See, first….” You give Sam a light suck just under the ridge of his cock. “I put on lipstick that wouldn’t smudge, then added lip gloss that would.”

Sam’s pupils blow when he realizes your mouth is going to be _that_ color when your lips are finally wrapped around his cock.

“You want me to blow you now?”

“Fuck, yes,” Sam grits out and pushes his cock against your red-pink lips, ruining the glossy kiss that you left behind, but not giving a shit – he’ll have you leave another sometime soon.

You hold tight to Sam’s hips as you slide your mouth down as much of his cock as you can. His hands twist in your hair, fingertips petting what he can while he grunts out monosyllabic praises.

Looking down at you, Sam can see your bright lips wrapped around his cock, shiny from the spit that you’ve left behind, and it’s hotter than he ever imagined it would be, only one other thing could make this even better.

Just before Sam can’t control whether he comes or not, he pulls himself out of your mouth and inches it across your lips. He wants to see his come dripping off of your lips, bright red-pink with creamy white. “Close your eyes, baby.”

Instantly, you know what Sam’s going to do, and the thought of him coming on your face and lips, makes you even wetter. Giving him one last look, you do what he says and shut your eyes, opening your mouth just a little bit.

With just a couple tight strokes of his fist, Sam comes on your mouth and chin, a deep and gravelly shout following his orgasm. After he catches his breath, he sighs a satisfied noise as he enjoys the sight of his come dribbling down your swollen, red-pink lips.

“All right, you can open,” he huskily tells you.

When you open your eyes, Sam uses his cock to wipe his come from your bottom lip, then pushes it into your mouth, still staring at your shiny red-pink lips.

The second that your face and lips are clean, Sam grabs you up off his floor, gently tosses you on his bed, and makes you come on his tongue and _then_ his cock.

-

Over the next while, whenever you blow Sam, you make sure that your lips are slicked up for him. Sometimes he picks the color, sometimes you do, but it’s always there.

Once, you use lip stain just before you blow him, giving the tip of his cock the customary kiss, and Sam gets hard every time that he sees the mark. It takes a week for his daily showers to wash it away, and then he just has you make a new mark.

Time passes and after another lip gloss-slick blow job, you tease Sam, “Someday, I’m going to run out of lip gloss. Then what’ll you do?”

Sam doesn’t answer, just flips the blankets over your head and kisses every inch of your body until you stop talking.

-

The next day, there’s a gift bag on Sam’s bed with your name on it. You look inside, and there’s over a hundred tubes of lip gloss and sticks of lipstick and stain, and they’re almost all red-pink.

 


End file.
